


Exhaustion

by LostGirl



Series: Recovery!Verse [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Anal Sex, D/s, M/M, PWP, Praise Kink, Smut, dom!Giles, sub!Wesley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2258457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostGirl/pseuds/LostGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP.  Very.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exhaustion

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** All things BtVS and AtS belong to Joss Whedon and various corporate entities. I am neither.
> 
> Huge thanks to [](http://mireille719.livejournal.com/profile)[**mireille719**](http://mireille719.livejournal.com/) for the beta magic!

Wesley still loves their sessions.  More so now, actually.  It isn't hard to remember why, not with Rupert standing over him, face stern as his eyes follow Wesley's movements.  Wesley pushes the weights up, inhaling the scent of his own sweat as he draws in a deep breath, one he lets out as he brings the bar back down.

His muscles tense, his arms beginning to shake with the strain of the exertion.  Wesley holds the weight just above his chest, his fingers tightening with each passing moment.  He sucks in a quick, sharp breath, his eyes on Rupert, waiting.

Rupert nods and, at that signal, Wesley pushes, raising the weights again, extending his arms to their limit.  The fine tremors make it more difficult.  Wesley has to focus on the task, on holding the weights even as sweat trickles down to pool in the small of his back.

"Another."  Rupert's voice is sharp in the silence.  Wesley hears Rupert moving, but he can't look, has to concentrate on the weights in order to bring them down again at a controlled pace.  Sweat stings his eyes, and Wesley blinks it away, biting his lower lip hard.  Rupert kneels behind his head, and Wesley gasps as Rupert's breath caresses his neck and ear.  "Make me proud," Rupert murmurs.

Wesley gasps, holding the weights above his chest and struggling to get his breath back.  He can't disappoint Rupert, won't allow himself to.  His muscles tremble in earnest, aching with the strain as he holds the weight right where it is.

"Continue," Rupert whispers, his fingers brushing along Wesley's shoulder, lightly down Wesley's naked chest until they settle over Wesley's pounding heart.  Then they're gone, and Wesley realizes he's raised the bar without a thought.  His arms are shaking visibly, but not yet violently.  Rupert won't let him stop, though.  Rupert's voice in his ear keeps him moving, the thought of the pride he'll later see in Rupert's eyes making it all worth it.

The smell of sweat envelops him, but all Wesley hears is Rupert's voice as his lover says, "Another."

Wesley swallows hard, rolling his lip between his teeth as he brings the weight back down and holds it.  He feels the strain in all of his body.  His neck and back and chest and stomach are all taut with it, his arms shaking, the pain in his muscles crying out that he stop, that he rest.

Rupert's lips brush his ear.  "Hold it, Wesley."

Wesley manages to work the words, "Yes, sir," past his cracked lips.  It's somehow wrong that his mouth should be so dry when the rest of him is slick.  Wesley tries to breathe, but it's so hard.  His body aches, trembling with the need to rest, but Wesley refuses to give in.  He waits, letting his arms shake, letting Rupert see him push himself.

"Continue."  Rupert's voice, so hard and warm, pulls at things inside Wesley.  Wesley responds to it in a way he wouldn't have thought possible just months ago.  He pushes the weights up again, his joints creaking with the effort, his breath coming in ragged gasps he can no longer control.  He isn't sure he's ever felt so tired, so ready to give in, but he can't, he won't.

Rupert will know when it's time to stop.  Rupert always knows, and Wesley trusts him to call a halt when it's time.  The thought of what will happen then, if Wesley does well enough, pushes hard enough, sends a surge of excitement through Wesley's body, making his skin itch and his muscles quiet for a few seconds.

"Another," Rupert says, firm and unrelenting.  Wesley sucks in a deep breath, catching a hint of Rupert's cologne along with the scent of his own sweat.  Calmed, Wesley forces his exhausted muscles to work, brings the weight down to just above his chest and holds it there, his arms aching under the strain.  He tries to breathe, but if he releases the air he'll never be able to draw it in again.  His body is tight and ready to stop, but Wesley lifts the bar when Rupert gives the word, pushing through the pain beginning to settle in.  The ache is growing, changing; his muscles burn with the strain of it.

"Very good," Rupert says in his ear and Wesley closes his eyes, his teeth loosening their painful grip on his lip.  Wesley guides the bar to its resting place and lets it drop, reveling in that quiet 'thunk'.  Rupert's hands are on him, rubbing at his shoulders.  Wesley's body feels shaky compared to Rupert's steady grip.

"That's my good boy," Rupert says, his voice little more than a whisper in Wesley's ear, barely heard over the surging of Wesley's blood.

Wesley gasps, his eyes snapping open.  He turns his face to look at Rupert.  There's no smile.  Wesley doesn't expect one, and doesn't care when what he does see is naked desire and a glint of pride in Rupert's warm green eyes.

"Thank you," Wesley says, his voice hoarse, referring to so much more than a kind word.  He doesn't need to say anything else; Rupert nods, leaning in and rubbing their lips together.  Wesley presses against Rupert hard, his lips opening immediately.  He whimpers as his muscles complain, but that's soon forgotten in the heat of Rupert's kiss, of Rupert's hands on his skin.

"God, yes," Wesley breathes, arching his body as Rupert's lips run down to his throat, nipping hard and then sucking.  Wesley groans, bringing a hand up to tangle in Rupert's hair, leaning his neck to the side to give his lover better access.  Rupert's teeth scrape along his throat, down his collarbone, and Wesley can't seem to keep the air in his lungs.  Each breath seems gone almost before he's drawn it in.

Rupert pulls away, and it takes Wesley a moment to realize that it's actually better if he lets him.  Rupert raises an eyebrow at him, and Wesley smiles, sitting up and ignoring the twinge of his stomach muscles as Rupert comes to sit behind him on the bench.  Rupert's arms wrap around him, and Wesley leans back, a small sound escaping his lips as Rupert nips at his shoulder.  Rupert's hands rub along Wesley's stomach, his fingers sliding through sweat as they move against over-tired muscles.

Wesley lets himself relax, finally, leaning back against Rupert.  His eyes flutter shut as he arches his back, pressing into Rupert's hands as they skim his skin, up over his stomach, until Rupert's fingers close over Wesley's nipple.  Wesley gasps, his hips jerking up of their own volition.

Rupert's teeth press against his neck, and Wesley tilts his head back, leaning it against Rupert's shoulder and letting out a small whimper.  He isn't sure he can take much more of this.  His cock is so hard it hurts.  His hips move in shallow thrusts as Rupert pinches first one nipple and then the other.  But, in this as in his sessions, Wesley lets Rupert guide him.

Rupert's teeth scrape over his ear and then down his neck and over his shoulder.  Wesley finds himself panting, his stomach clenching tight.  Rupert trails the fingers of one hand down over Wesley's stomach and lower, brushing them under the waistband of Wesley's sweatpants.  The tips sweep the head of Wesley's cock, making him jerk as if he's a puppet and Rupert's pulling his strings.

"Please," he moans, unsurprised at how desperate he sounds.  Rupert sometimes takes hours just to get him to sound that way, but after a session together it always seems to happen more quickly.

"Soon," Rupert whispers against his ear, nibbling along the shell of it as his hand slides lower, and his fingertips brush lightly along the length of Wesley's aching cock.  "Love it when you're eager.  Such a good boy."  Wesley arches, his hips moving off the bench, his eyes closing as he tries to absorb every heartbeat of the sensation, reveling in it.

Rupert drags his fingers lower, running them over Wesley's balls, making them tighten under the caress.  Wesley whimpers, his body tensing with his effort to hold back, to control himself until Rupert gives him permission to let go.

Rupert's other hand skims down to join the first, pushing at Wesley's sweatpants.  Wesley leans forward, raising his hips to help.  Rupert puts a hot hand on his back, pushing him further until Wesley's cheek presses against the weight bench, his breath coming in short gasps.  Rupert's hand seems to burn gently against his skin, as if there'll be a mark where it rests, a hand print of reddened skin marking him.

Wesley whimpers again, pressing his arse back, saying with his body what he can't put into words.  Rupert presses forward, his hard, fabric-covered cock grinding against Wesley's arse.  Rupert scratches his nails lightly down Wesley's back, drawing a series of small noises from Wesley's throat.  Rupert's fingers trace along the crease, slowly, as if they have all the time in the world.  Wesley pushes back against them, letting a small whine slip from between his lips.

Rupert chuckles, his fingers leaving Wesley's skin.  Wesley protests, but stays in the position in which Rupert put him.  He pushed hard against Rupert's cock, and the resulting groan sends shivers through him.  A stinging slap to his arse quickly stills his restless movements, however.

"Be still."  Rupert's voice is the same as during their session: sharp and hard and just loud enough to be heard over the desperate pounding of Wesley's heart.

Wesley responds instantly, his body aching from the new tension of his muscles as he tries to hold himself perfectly still.  His skin stings where Rupert's hand hit, and Wesley closes his eyes, concentrating on that ache and tuning out all the others.  Then Rupert's fingers are back, slick and perfect as they slide along the sensitive skin of Wesley's lower back, leaving a trail of gooseflesh behind.

Rupert's fingers circle Wesley's entrance, the slow, deliberate movements drawing a low, frustrated groan from Wesley.  It's hard to keep still, but Wesley wants to make Rupert proud of him, wants Rupert to be pleased, so he remains still as Rupert slips a single finger inside him, preparing him.

Wesley's breath is little more than short gasps, each of them catching in his throat as Rupert pushes a second finger inside.  Rupert strokes slowly, pushing and withdrawing far too gently for Wesley's peace of mind.  Trapped between the weight bench and his stomach, Wesley's cock throbs in time with each of Rupert's strokes, driving Wesley to distraction.  Wesley has just enough of his mind left to hold himself still, even while his body insists that he move, insists that he find friction against his aching prick.

Then Rupert's fingers withdraw, and Wesley whimpers, though even he can't say whether it's in disappointment or anticipation.  A moment later, the thick head of Rupert's cock presses against his entrance, presses inside, and Wesley has to bite his lip hard to keep from moving.  The urge to press back, to get more of that wonderful heat, is so close to overwhelming that he knows he can't take it much longer.  He's going to disappoint Rupert if he has to be still much longer.

"Move for me, Wesley.  Lift your arse up."  Wesley complies with a groan of relief, propping himself up on his elbows, pushing his arse into the air and back against Rupert's thrusts.  "Such a good boy," Rupert says, his hands gripping at Wesley's hips tight enough to leave marks.  Wesley can't keep himself quiet, but Rupert never asks for that.  He pushes back against Rupert's hard thrusts and then forward, rubbing his cock against the worn material of the bench.

He wants to beg, needs to come, but he knows it wouldn't make any difference.  Rupert loves to make him wait, loves to push him farther than Wesley thinks he can go.  In the past, Wesley has spent hours on his stomach, feeling Rupert's hands and lips and teeth and cock, but Rupert's always put a cockring on him before, always given him something to help him control himself.  Now he has only his own will, and Wesley isn't sure it will be enough.

Then one of Rupert's hands slips from Wesley's hip, sliding around to close on Wesley's erection.  Wesley begins to whimper with each of Rupert's driving thrusts.  It's nearly too much: Rupert pushing into him, filling him.  With every thrust Wesley's cock pushes into the tight, slick channel of Rupert's fist.  Wesley's balls are tight against his body, his cock hot with the friction, and he can feel his orgasm building.

He tries to concentrate on the aches, the strain of his muscles, the sweat that's pooling in the hollow of his back, but it barely helps at all.  The need to come fills him, makes his skin itch and tingle, and he feels as if there are sparks lighting along his nerve endings.  Every inch of him is alive and overwhelmed by the sensations.

Wesley clenches tight around Rupert's cock, moving in time with Rupert's increasingly frantic thrusts.  Rupert groans, and Wesley knows he's close.  Clenching tighter, Wesley relishes the tightening of Rupert's fingers on his hip, the way Rupert leans low over Wesley's back and bites hard enough to leave marks.  Then Rupert is coming deep inside him, and Wesley knows he can't hold out, can't keep himself from coming as well.

"Now," Rupert snaps, his voice hoarse and his breathing ragged and harsh.  Wesley lets go, comes, his orgasm washing through him in a wave, conjuring a white noise in his ears that drowns out even the sounds of Rupert's praise.

His whole body tenses, and he's squeezing his eyes shut so tightly that there are splotches of color dancing behind them.  Rupert's cock is still moving inside him, Rupert's hand still stroking and squeezing Wesley's prick, pulling every last heartbeat of orgasm from Wesley's tired body.  Wesley, gasping and exhausted, collapses against the bench, clenching his arse tight around Rupert's softening cock.

Rupert's weight presses him down, forcing him to relax his aching muscles.  "Such a good boy for me," Rupert murmurs against his shoulder, gently pulling his hand out from under Wesley's sprawled body.  "Rest now," Rupert says, rubbing his lips against Wesley's skin.  "In a little while we'll get you showered."

Wesley moans his agreement, letting his eyes close and trusting Rupert to take care of him.


End file.
